


you've applied pressure (to help me crystallize)

by thanatopis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dating, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru is a twenty-something who happens to meet Kageyama Tobio in the most unfortunate way ever. Really, it will haunt him forever. Lucky enough for him, Kageyama doesn't press charges...but he does want something in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, what did I get myself into... 
> 
> This is an AU where Kageyama and Oikawa did not know each other during their high school years of volleyball. An AU where Oikawa, due to his knee injury, had to stop playing.
> 
> I'm pretty sure this is only going to be three chapters long. I already have most of chapter two done as I post this.

“I-iwa-chan! Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey!”

Oikawa can’t help but giggle madly as he slouches tiredly against his best friend’s apartment door, the heel of his hand weakly pounding against the thick wood in an imitation of the blood pulsing through his veins.

He’s drunk—really fucking drunk—and that fact seems to amuse him _immensely_ for some childish reason as he laughs and giggles at absolutely nothing like a madman on crack.

It’s Saturday night (early Sunday morning now—oh god Iwaizumi is going to hit him _so_ hard—) and going out with some of his newly formed college buddies sounded a whole lot better than being cooped up in his own small apartment, nursing a tub of rocky road and watching _Mars Attacks_ alone for the millionth time in his life.

But to say that Oikawa was just simply ‘drunk’ was honestly the biggest understatement at the moment—it was more like shit-faced drunk.

He’d asked the bartender, a cute mousey blond with full pouty lips and a nice ass to surprise him with her favorite drink.

She smiled coyly, sliding over a shot glass by the name of ‘French Fuck’ that was amaretto, Kahlua, and whisky heaven in his mouth when he tipped it back. His tongue licked over his lips as he asked for another and then another…and before he knew it he was an uncoordinated mess of limbs and slurred speech, in the middle of a sexy sandwich between a girl and guy as he was grinded on and grinded against.

The friends that he had come with weren’t any better—well, the ones he had _found_ anyway. Oikawa worried internally, wondering how the hell he was going to get home in one piece before he realized Iwaizumi didn’t live too far away. The only problem he faced was just trying _not_ to injure himself on the walk there.

“Iwa-chaaaaaan…” Oikawa whines, his head pounding making him dizzy. The bright florescent lights overhead in the hallway really don’t help matters.

Oikawa screws his eyes shut.

“Iwa-chan _please_ open the door! The hallway is starting to spin and I feel like I’m going to throw up!” Oikawa groans, “I know you—you’re angry but—”

Oikawa startles slightly as the door flies open and he almost trips inside, losing his balance for a mere moment.

He blanches at the unrecognizable stranger that’s staring at him with a mix of confusion and anger, wearing little volleyball printed boxer shorts and a white cotton t-shirt.

_How cute._

His eyes are a dark blue, squinting at the light that assaults his eyes compared to the darkness of the apartment inside. It looks like safe heaven.

Oikawa’s brows furrow in question and he wiggles his index finger in a circle for three revolutions before pointing it at the dark haired stranger’s cotton covered chest, poking him hard in the sternum.

“Who are _you_?” Oikawa asks with a hint of distain. Iwaizumi never told him he was seeing someone so hot. How unfair life was.

“Are you Iwa-chan’s new boy toy? Were you two _fucking_?” Oikawa smiles widely, hiding a hand over his mouth in a way a five year old would over something scandalous as he giggles loudly. “Is that why it took you so long to answer the door?”

The stranger’s brow rises and his mouth parts on a surprised breath.

He flushes prettily, Oikawa vaguely notes.

Oikawa really honestly doesn’t want to deal with any of this right now. All he wants is to lie down and go to bed—so he pushes the stranger aside with a half-hearted shove, scoffing when the move ends up making him more disoriented as he stumbles inside.

It’s Iwaizumi’s place after all so Oikawa doesn’t even bother saying excuse me as he starts talking off his shoes and disposing of them by the front door.

“H-hey!—what the hell are you—”

“Oh god, please no yelling.” Oikawa winces, putting his hands to his ears. “I promise you guys can go right back to it—just pretend I’m not even here. I won’t even hear it!”

He walks deeper into the apartment, successfully not having tripped over his own two feet but pauses when he enters the living room. Oikawa hasn’t been over at Iwaizumi’s since about a week ago but he’s knowledgeable enough to know that the couch is usually on the _other_ side of the room, by the wall instead of in the middle right when you walk in…

Oikawa doesn’t pay it any heed though as he shrugs off his jacket and shirt and falls face first into the soft sofa. It smells different, like pinewood needles and grass and Oikawa notes how much he likes it, snuggling deeper into the sofa with a content sigh.

With one more content shuffle deeper into the cushions, Oikawa falls right asleep.

* * *

 

Surely this has to be a bad joke, Kageyama thinks.

A stranger is asleep on his fucking couch, snoring loudly might he add too.

The stranger, whoever the hell he is, is obviously drunk—if the obnoxious banging outside his apartment door and the fact he smells like sweat and a bar is anything to go by.

Kageyama paces back and forth, running his hands wildly through his hair, rightly tempted to pull it all out.

“What. The. Fuck,” He breathes quietly, looking every so often at the half naked man to make sure he’s really asleep and not planning to either kill or rob him.

He gets a bucket out from under the kitchen sink that he usually uses for mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors and puts it by the stranger side just in case he happens to start throwing up all over his couch.

Kageyama considers the man for a moment, cataloging his chocolate brown curls and his honey tinted skin, how his back muscles are clearly defined telling Kageyama that this man is an active athlete of some sort.

After Kageyama deems that he’s been staring for far too long to be called appropriate he immediately runs into his room and grabs his cell off his nightstand.

There’s really only one person he can call.

The dial tone rings in his ears for a couple of breath-holding seconds before Hinata’s sleepy, groggy voice picks up on the other line. Kageyama can almost picture his friend’s wild bed-head and the visible sleep in his eyes. He has no sympathy about waking Hinata up this late in the night in this kind of dire situation.

“Wake up dumbass!”

Hinata groans, “Kageyama? What the hell?—why are you—”

Kageyama hisses, “There’s a guy on my couch!”

Hinata pauses and Kageyama can almost see him blinking dumbly, “What? I don’t get it.”

“There’s a _drunk guy_ on my couch.” Kageyama really stresses the _drunk_ part, adding pathetically afterwards, “I don’t even know him.”

“Then why did you let him into your apartment you idiot?” Hinata asks. “Honestly Kageyama you can’t complain about a drunk guy in your house if you just _let him in_!”

Kageyama feels a vein twitch in his temple, trying his hardest to keep his voice down as he paces back and forth between his room, the kitchen, and the living room.

Every few moments his eyes flicker to the body sprawled on his couch, watching the steady rise and fall of the stranger’s back.

“Dumbass, I think he thought that _my_ place was someone _else’s_. He just walked in like he fucking _lived_ here and paid the rent…I can’t believe this.” Kageyama bites his lip, sighing heavily through his nose. He can hear Hinata trying to suppress his laughter on the other end, no doubt finding Kageyama’s misery to be hilarious. He’ll probably tell the whole team about it on Monday too.

Kageyama frowns, shoulders falling, “You’re such a shit friend.”

Hinata snorts, “Oh be quiet. Just wait until morning—that’s pretty much all you can do at this point Kageyama.”

Kageyama pouts, opening his mouth to protest but Hinata stops him short.

“The guy has to be pretty smashed if he can’t tell the difference between someone else’s apartment and yours so I doubt he’s gonna be waking up anytime soon…and if you’re _still_ unconvinced well…you better grab a knife and tuck it under your pillow or something.” Hinata laughs and Kageyama wants to kick him.

Kageyama scoffs, “The worst friend I’ve ever had.” He says, correcting his earlier statement.

Hinata clicks his teeth, yawning loudly right after. There’s a quite murmur next to Hinata, deeper in voice and sounding a whole lot like someone Kageyama knows.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going back to sleep now…oh, Ryuu says next time you call this late he’s gonna kick your perfect setter ass.”

Hinata ends the call with a giggle.

* * *

 

Oikawa wakes up with the sun in his eyes.

It feels like torture, having something so bright assault you when you wake up first thing. Oikawa groans in pain, burrowing his curly head further into the soft cushions which after a while Oikawa worryingly notices isn’t the same color or texture as Iwaizumi’s faded black leather sofa.

Oikawa rises slowly onto his elbows, frowning at the unfamiliarity of the brown corduroy fabric he apparently slept on all night last night.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks on a held breath, panic starting to expand in his chest like a balloon. “Did you get a new sofa while I was gone?” He laughs, but it comes off as uneasy.

His heart rackets in the cavity of his chest when there’s no answer, looking around confirms Oikawa’s fear.

He’s not in Iwaizumi’s apartment. He does not know where the hell he is.

Where Iwaizumi has barely anything decorating his one bedroom apartment, the owner of this one has their walls painted a dark storm cloud gray, various black framed posters of… _volleyball_ players (oh, he actually knows who that player is!) both male and female forever captured in beautifully stunning HD renders in mid-game. Oikawa can even see the little beads of sweat on their foreheads as they prepare to spike a ball or serve it. It’s an odd decorating choice, Oikawa vaguely thinks.

“Oh god,” He whines into his hands. Oikawa doesn’t feel like doing this today, he doesn’t feel like doing _anything_. He just wants to sleep for the rest of today and maybe tomorrow.

Oikawa startles when he hears the clearing of a throat, it’s timid but unmistakably _there_ and Oikawa turns his head so fast he swears he gets whiplash as well as a throbbing behind his eyes that’s absolute hell.

“Who the hell are you?” He demands on impulse, not really thinking as he spots a guy probably no more older than he is fiddling around in the kitchen. There’s a vague sense of familiarity, but the most unhelpful kind—the kind where you’re pondering the whole day where you’ve heard a certain song or seen a certain face. Completely unhelpful.

The man snorts and stops searching for whatever he’s trying to find in that cabinet to look back pointedly at Oikawa, brow rising in an impressive arch that almost rivals his own.

“I should be asking _you_ that.” He says and goes back to fishing through the cabinet.

“Oh, and good morning to you too.”

Oikawa scoffs at the sarcastic, dry tone of voice but there’s no real heat in it. His head is in too much pain and the sun cutting in between the blinds doesn’t do much for him either. Oikawa rubs at his temples, wincing slightly.

Noticing his rumpled shirt on the floor, Oikawa grabs it with a huff, trying his hardest to re-piece together last night’s events.

He remembers arriving at the club and downing drinks left and right, hitting on attractive people and being hit on, but no one had held his interest long enough to stay so he decided to leave early…and the rest is…

A glass of water is unexpectedly shoved in his face and Oikawa looks up at the man as he drops an Alka-Seltzer into the water and gestures at with a twist of his wrist for Oikawa to take it.

He’s handsome in a stark, simple kind of way, his eyes almost as blue as the darkest gem stone in his mother’s jewelry box and his face is attractively angular, born with a kind of bone structure anyone would be jealous of.

Studying the bubbling liquid before taking it into his hand with a frown, Oikawa swallows, eyeing the stranger up and down before moving his gaze sideways in an attempt at nonchalance.

He’s not going think about it…his pants _are_ still on so that has to count for something…right?

“Thanks.” He says under his breath, sipping quickly at the horrible stuff.

The stranger nods, the movement awkwardly stiff as he scratches at the back of his neck.

“Uh yeah, no problem.”

With a heavy sigh, the stranger collapses on the coffee table raking his hair out of his eyes only to have it go back in a messy flop. He runs his hands nervously up and down dark wash denim thighs before he notices the nervous gesture for what it is and stops, arms crossing over his chest to keep his hands still.

Oikawa studies him from the rim of the cup, arm hanging off the end of the couch he’s leaning his side lazily on. Oikawa’s not above being discrete, especially in this kind of situation where answers are _very_ essential towards the goodness of his mental health.

It’s painfully quiet for a minute or two as the both of them look at each other under the pretense that they aren’t. Underlying unspoken questions on are on the tip of Oikawa’s tongue, ones that he doesn’t want to ask but needs too. Gathering courage, he manages to.

Oikawa clears his throat quite awkwardly, “Did we uh…sleep together?”

The dark haired stranger looks at him slightly scandalized before he snorts loudly at the question, his shoulders obnoxiously rock with it and he can’t quite repress the smile that breaks over his face as he chuckles a bit.

Oikawa gapes at him, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish.

 _Well that’s rude_ , he wants to say but doesn’t, biting his lip to keep the insults at bay.

He’s confused by the reaction, wonders what so funny about asking if he slept with a complete stranger. Oikawa thinks if anything _he_ should be grateful that he didn’t flat out hit him and run away (not that he would’ve been able to with this headache) when he realized it wasn’t Iwaizumi’s apartment that he woke up in.

 _Maybe he’s not into guys_ Oikawa thinks, but then feels incredibly stupid at the surge of offence he feels at that.

_I would rock your world and then some…not that I’m offering but still—I’m a motherfucking catch._

“You really don’t remember a thing?” Tall, dark, and pouty asks, astonishment in his tone.

Oikawa winces slightly at that. He knows what he can be like when drunk—Iwaizumi’s 20th birthday had been a testament to that fact if the videos Hanamaki took of him were anything to go by. The morning after, Oikawa notes, is listed as one of the darkest days of his life. Hanamaki still never lets him live it down…even four years later.

Oikawa makes a sour face.

“Obviously, if I’m asking you,” He takes a sip of the water, the Alka-Seltzer the size of a dime now.

“You’re a _real_ big help by the way.”

Setting the glass on the table, Oikawa makes to stand up, stumbling slightly at how the too-quick movement seems to make the room spin. When he’s sure he’s not going to throw up he shrugs on his shirt, looking around to see where his shoes and jacket are.

“I think you thought I was someone else,” The stranger says looking thoughtful. “My name’s Kageyama Tobio by the way.”

Oikawa pauses, looking at Kageyama Tobio up and down critically before he sighs, “Oikawa Tooru.”

Kageyama nods his head, looking back down towards his feet and spots his jacket wedged under the couch.

“You’re messy when you’re drunk.” Kageyama says simply, handing Oikawa his jacket and Oikawa gapes stupidly at the gall of him. He snatches it out of Kageyama’s hand a moment later, mumbling something under his breath.

“Your shoes are by the door.” He adds helpfully, running his hands over his thighs and Oikawa snorts.

“Thanks.” He says dryly.

Silence lapse between them as Oikawa laces his shoes and it’s uncomfortable, how the silence drags out. Oikawa has nothing to fill the gaps, nothing that seems appropriate in this instance anyway.

“So who’s ‘Iwa-chan’?”

Oikawa pauses at that, laces loosening between his fingers as his brow arches.

“Why do you wanna know?” He asks skeptically, tightening the knot with a harsh pull.

Kageyama shrugs, “You thought I was banging him—or _her_ —and then barged into my apartment because you thought it was theirs. I’m just curious.”

 _Fair enough_ , Oikawa thinks, pout etching over his lips.

“It sounds so embarrassing when you say it like that...” He mutters under his breath, light flush painting over his cheeks as he rakes his hair tiredly out of his eyes, cringing each time his hand gets caught in the tangles.

Oikawa honestly still can’t believe it. Iwa-chan is definitely going to hit him now.

“Iwa-chan is my best friend. He lives in this complex.”

Kageyama tilts his head, blinking before asking, “So he’s not your boyfriend?”

Oikawa visibly pauses at that, hands freezing where they tie his left shoe. “Wha—no! What does that even have to _do_ with anything! Are you not seeing my dilemma here?”

The blush that descends over Kageyama’s face is telling in its subtly and Oikawa is too hungover to deal with men and their blooming crushes with their charming bedheads and their nice earthly smells…and he’s losing the plot…

“Sorry.” Kageyama apologizes softly, the tips of his ears pink and Oikawa, for the first time since he met this stranger, _really_ considers him for a moment. Of course the interest is purely subjective.

Oikawa is not considering wanting to see this man again. He is not.

“Are you trying to pick me up?”

“Would you be interested if I was?”

* * *

 

In the end he doesn’t give Kageyama Tobio his number.

Not because he wasn’t interested—some part of him greatly was.

It seemed counterproductive of him to try and deny that Kageyama Tobio was handsome, that his black soft looking hair with his dark blue eyes paired together was some sort of breathtaking.

Someone like that had to have someone right? But then Oikawa thought back to Kageyama’s odd, almost awkward approach of conversing with him and immediately understood how most people would shy away from some so blunt and taciturn despite their good looks.

Not like the situation had warranted anything less, but if Hanamaki ever found out he blundered shit-faced drunk into someone else’s apartment he would never hear the end of it, it would beat out Iwaizumi’s 20th birthday by _miles_.

So when Oikawa decides to confide in Iwaizumi three days later over coffee and tell him of ‘the incident’ as he dubs it shamefully, he hopes his best friend spares him the embarrassment of telling everyone they know and then some.

Iwaizumi has tears beading at the corners of his eyes, gripping at his stomach trying to politely contain his laughter. Of course not for Oikawa’s own benefit but the people around them as Oikawa, both parts amused and mortified, recounts the story.

Oikawa gets to the part where he wakes up, describing the interior of the living room and how he almost had a heart attack when he realized that he was most definitely not in Iwaizumi’s apartment.

Iwaizumi gasps, face red as he calls Oikawa a dumbass over and over again.

Oikawa fondly waits for him to catch his breath before he continues on with the story, describing Kageyama Tobio briefly, deciding not to mention the muscular litheness of his figure or the fact he woke up with a blanket draped over him.

So he _definitely_ doesn’t tell Iwaizumi about how Kageyama asked him out, eyes clear and determined how Oikawa actually considered it for a moment before he thought better of it.

Even after he’s done telling the story, Iwaizumi is still having a hard time breathing. His forehead lays on the table as fits of soundless laughter rack his back.

Oikawa takes a polite sip of his vanilla latte, staring pointedly at Iwaizumi over the rim of the cup.

“It’s not _that_ funny Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts.

“Oh my god, you are such a hopeless idiot. You don’t even know…” Iwaizumi shakes his head back and forth, aspirated, wiping at the corner of his eyes with an amused smile.

Oikawa face pinches at that, confused.

“Know what?”

“I wasn’t completely sure, but when you started describing the pictures of volleyball players littered around his apartment that pretty much gave it away.” Iwaizumi pauses, taking a much needed sip of lemon tea.

“Kageyama Tobio, the guy whose apartment you just happily waltzed into all willy-nilly is one of the players for the national volleyball league. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him. I had no idea he lived in my complex though, that’s fucking crazy.”

Oikawa pauses at this, eyes wide and blinking dumbly.

“ _Him_? He’s a _player_?”

Iwaizumi grins at him from behind his hand, nodding his head slowly.

“He’s Japan’s best setter—arguably the world’s best—at least according to all the volleyball monthly magazines anyway.”

Oikawa sits back in his chair, lost for words.

It makes sense, now that he thinks about it. Kageyama had that kind of ease and grace to his movements that spoke of years of dedication to a sport—something Oikawa once had.

Without meaning to his hand finds his knee and settles over the screws and bolts embedded in bone and skin. He’s not so bitter about the lost opportunity anymore, but the reminder sometimes can still be a dull throbbing ache.

When he looks back at Iwaizumi, his best friend is watching him with a knowing expression, eyes soft.

There had been a time when that kind of look from anyone enraged him enough to make him want to throw things and yell until his lungs bled.

“Well shit, I guess it’s kind of late to add in that he asked me out then isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi snorts, shoulders rocking, “You fucking liar.”

Oikawa tilts his chin up haughty, “I’m not—before I left he asked if you were my boyfriend and when I said no he said he was interested.”

Quirking a brow, Iwaizumi staples his hands under his chin.

“Were _you_? From what you told me he seems like an okay guy, took care of you when he didn’t have too instead of calling the cops.”

When Iwaizumi says it like that, it almost seems stupid that he turned Kageyama down.

Oikawa shrugs, eyes shifting sideways.

“I mean, he’s odd, but like, it wasn’t weird or anything.”

 _Charming kind of actually_ , the traitorous part of Oikawa’s brain fills in and he can feel the tips of his ears heat.

“He’s incredibly blunt and sarcastic as hell might I add, not cute at all…” Oikawa trails off weakly, fidgeting with the rim of his coffee cup, looking into the latte’s foamy depths as if it holds all the answers.

He hears Iwaizumi scoff as he leans back into his chair with a fond smile Oikawa doesn’t see.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

* * *

 

On the weekends Oikawa teaches children volleyball at the local gymnasium. It’s something he’s been doing since high school when his nephew Takeru was still small and impressionable and Oikawa could pick him up and shower him with hugs and kisses without Takeru getting too embarrassed.

Back then he only volunteered to spend time with Takeru, but the kids where so eager to learn from him and Oikawa was more than willing to show them all the right tricks and methods to serve a ball or spike it.

His groups of munchkins aren’t any different now.

Oikawa’s running late as he jogs up the gymnasium steps with his gym bag over his right shoulder. If he notices the bigger turnout this afternoon it’s absentminded as he walks down the hallway towards the gym his classes are always held in.

Opening the doubles doors and seeing all the kids and parents in the small gymnasium makes Oikawa think he’s stepped into the wrong class for a moment.

He knows he hasn’t because in the next instant Natsume is running towards him, big smile on his face.

Natsume grabs his hand, pulling at his arm insistently.

“Oikawa-sensei, there’s this really cool guy here! He’s as cool as you!”

Oikawa raises a brow, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“Oh, really? As cool as me? Where is he?”

Natsume smiles and points excitedly over to a crowd of people condensed quite considerably.

“Mommy says he’s our special, special guest, that he’s gonna play with us today!”

Oikawa ruffles the boy’s hair fondly one last time before he strides over to the throng of people. He means to speak to the director, the middle aged man that organizes and sees over all the events that happen in the gymnasium to ask what’s going on, but before he can do that Oikawa hears a familiar voice that stops him right in his tracks.

“Thank you for having me today.” Kageyama Tobio says, more polite than Oikawa’s ever heard him. Oikawa’s heart starts to beat frantically inside the cavity of his chest as he stands there, feet frozen to the floor.

“No, thank you for coming out today, the children are very excited to have you and—oh, Kageyama-san here’s someone I want you to meet, he’s a very excellent young man.”

Before he can run or even duck out of shot, the director spots him, walking over and clasping Oikawa good-naturedly on the shoulder like a father would his son.

Kageyama’s eyes widen comically before the cool, impassive façade is placed back on his face. Oikawa swears he sees a pleased glint in those too blue eyes.

Oikawa clears his throat, holding out his hand.

“Oikawa Tooru—it’s nice to meet you Kageyama-san.”

Kageyama takes his hand, callouses prominent while the palm of his hand is slightly damp. They don’t break eye contact once.

“You as well, please do take care of me Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if it’s air or his tongue that he chokes on.

* * *

 

They divide the class of kids into two groups. Most of the traitors flock to Kageyama, while the shyer ones stick with Oikawa, taking quick glimpses of Kageyama every once and a while, their curiosity peaking.

At the end of a 30 minute warm up (30 minutes because trying to rally up a bunch of grade school kids and make them focus is work in itself) they start an informal game of volleyball where Oikawa really only blows the whistle if a kid hogs the ball too much or if the roughhousing gets too out of hand.

Either way, it leaves Kageyama and himself with not much to do.

They slink off to the benches, not saying anything or looking at one another.

Oikawa fidgets, which is mortifying in itself but he can’t help it. He never really thought he would see Kageyama again.

“I was surprised to see you here; you’re actually pretty good though.”

Oikawa looks at Kageyama, whose eyes are still straight ahead on the court. Oikawa snorts before he does the same.

“I played a bit in high school, but thanks.” Oikawa says dryly. To say he played a bit in high school is the biggest understatement he’s ever told. He was fanatic about volleyball in high school, obsessive even, until a shattered knee made him reconsider what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

“So you’re a volleyball player, a pretty _big_ one.” Oikawa says simply. “I should have figured with all the volleyball pictures in your house, honestly, I thought it was the strangest decorating choice.”

Kageyama colors a bit at that, shrugging coolly.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it…”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Oikawa says with a false sweetness.

Banter with this man comes too easy. Oikawa can see how it could eventually turn addicting.

Clearing his throat for what seems like the umpteenth time today, Oikawa gathers his courage and turns his head, looking at Kageyama who in turn looks at him with a slow and casual roll of his head.

Oikawa was hoping that he still wouldn’t be as handsome as he remembers, that the only reason he had even thought so in the first place was because of the massive hangover. Sad for Oikawa then that his features are even more profound from this close up, his skin blemish free and looks like it would be soft to the touch.

Kageyama blinks those beautiful blue eyes at him, probably waiting for him to say something and stop being weird.

“You’re not stalking me are you?” Oikawa says instead.

Kageyama barks a laugh at this, shaking his head.

“No, I’m not, this whole thing,” He gestures vaguely around them, “Was planned weeks ahead. You stalking me?”

Oikawa wrinkles his nose, huffing. “No, I work here on the weekends. As if I’d stalk you…”

Kageyama shrugs, looking back out towards the kids. “Stranger things have happened.”

Oikawa believes that comment is alluding to him barging into his front door drunk on a Saturday night and inwardly he cringes, coloring a bit.

“Just think—no one’s story will ever beat yours at a party.” Oikawa says lamely.

Kageyama chuckles, “Eh, you’d be surprised.”

Conversation lapses and to make up for it Oikawa pretends to text someone important on his phone. Oikawa begins to notice how close they are, how he can smell Kageyama’s body wash along with the earthly scent of his apartment.

He startles a bit when Kageyama says, “Hey…afterwards, you know if you want to, you wanna get something to eat?”

Kageyama won’t look at him which for some reason is reassuring and kind of cute.

Oikawa grins, “You’re persistent.”

Even to his own ears it doesn’t sound like a bad thing.

“Just interested,” Kageyama corrects.

Oikawa sighs loudly like he’s weighing the pros and cons of such an outing, as if he doesn’t already know what his answer is going to be.

He says yes and falls a little bit in love with how Kageyama tries to hide his smile as he nods his head.

* * *

 

Kageyama proves to be not too familiar with the area so Oikawa ends up taking him to a well-known sushi bar that he frequents often with Iwaizumi and a few close friends. It also helps that they have the best and cheapest liquor in stock because Oikawa feels like he’s going to need a drink or two by the end of it.

Old lady Matsu-san brightens considerably when she sees Oikawa walk through the door, bell loudly chiming as he strolls through the archway, shrugging off his jacket.

Oikawa flashes one of his best smiles at her, bright and dazzling, his eyes crinkling fondly around the corners, dimples deepening. He waves, giving her a look he hopes communicates that she doesn’t need to rush whatever she’s doing behind the counter and cater to him as he slides smoothly into a seat at the bar.

Matsu-san does anyway, regarding Kageyama for a thoughtful moment. Knowingly, her almond eyes round back onto Oikawa with a bemused expression which Oikawa tries his best to ignore.

As Matsu-san asks for their orders, Oikawa pays particular attention when Kageyama asks for— _Sake Nigiri—_ not knowing why it’s so important to know what kind of food Kageyama likes but finding it oddly important nonetheless.

“So Tooru, who is this fine young man?” Mastu-san asks, smiling softly and Oikawa can tell that back in her prime she must have been quite the beauty.

Oikawa gestures lazily over to Kageyama, trying to play it as no big deal that he’s taken Kageyama to one of his most favorite restaurants. A restaurant that he never recommends solely because it would only attract more people and ruin the atmosphere…a restaurant he has showed Kageyama who will remember it and might tell his friends who will tell their friends and so on…

“This is Kageyama Tobio—a _friend_.” He must have used too much emphasis on the word because he can hear Kageyama’s soft snort from beside him, mumbling something under his breath that Oikawa can’t make out. Matsu-san on the other hand gives him a look that communicates how much she _doesn’t_ believe that.

Oikawa fails at trying not to flush. It’s like his grandmother taking an extra special interest in his love life when in all actuality his real grandmother could care less.

Extending a hand in an erratic gesture, Oikawa says, “Kageyama, this gorgeous lady is Matsu-san, co-owner of this fine establishment with her husband.”

Kageyama bows his head respectively, “Nice to meet you.”

Matsu-san extends the same curtesy, eyes raking over Kageyama in an appreciative gesture. _That_ or she just simply recognizes who he is—which happened a couple of times as they walked here—men mostly doing double takes as Kageyama passed them on the street.

Kageyama seems to be used to the over examining looks, he barely bats an eyelash in either case.

Mastu-san laughs softly, “I was surprised, Tooru you usually bring that _other_ handsome young man with you.”

She means Iwaizumi who gets mistook for his partner multiple times on a regular basis even without Matsu-san’s prying eye so Oikawa’s used to the assumption. He shrugs, taking a sip of beer through the straw.

“What can I say? My harem needs growing.” Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows lavishly earning a bright laugh from Matsu-san and a fond snort from Kageyama, who looks at him as if he can’t exactly believe he exists.

“Well I’ll leave you two then…the food should be out in a couple of minutes.” She departs, leaving both Oikawa and Kageyama in unfamiliar territory. The silence drags out uncomfortably and Oikawa racks his brain for things to say, but they all seem insignificant and stupid. He keeps telling himself this isn’t a date— _it is not_ —that he shouldn’t be this bad at small talk—he literally does it every day and _well_ but for some reason he can’t get over the feeling that it is.

That’s not good.

“This isn’t a date.” Oikawa says instead, impulsively and a tad bit panicked.

Kageyama hums for a thoughtful moment, absentmindedly nodding his head.

“Of course not.”

Oikawa turns and glares a pointed look at Kageyama who’s nursing a drink of his own. He looks incredibly calm and it’s infuriating.

Brow arching Oikawa says, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I asked you out and you said yes. I think you know what _this_ is.”

Kageyama says it like it’s so simple and it probably is.

“I said yes because—!”

Why did he say yes? Oikawa drawls a blank.

“You said yes because I think you’re interested too. You’re just playing hard to get…which I don’t mind really, it’s kind of cute.”

Oikawa gapes. The last time he was called cute was when he was twelve and his voice was cracking. He is not _cute_.

Oikawa says as much.

“Fine, you’re handsome—extremely. Happy now?” Kageyama says, eyes shifting sideways, taking a sip of his drink.

Oikawa huffs, cheeks brightening a bit. He notices that Kageyama finds him ‘extremely handsome’ with a belated breath. Oikawa has been told more flattering things about his appearance but there’s something different in knowing Kageyama finds him _that_ attractive.

Running a hand through the thick locks of his hair Oikawa asks, “So, just how long have you been playing for Japan anyways? That’s quite a feat.”

“Since I graduated high school—recruited me right after.” Kageyama says it like it isn’t a huge bragging right—to be scouted by the best and the biggest right out of high school. Oikawa is both parts impressed and jealous. Kageyama must be amazing, more amazing than he was.

Oikawa’s brow arches skeptically, a new thought coming to him, “How old are you?”

Kageyama blinks, “Ah, 22.”

Oikawa chuckles, “You had to think about it?”

“Shut up. You?”

“24.”

Kageyama puts his hand to his chin, looking oddly thoughtful about the information.

He shrugs, “Two year age difference huh? I think I can deal with that.”

Oikawa just looks at him, realizing that this is Kageyama’s way of trying to be funny and tell a joke. “Oh my god, shut up. That was horrible.”

Kageyama laughs around the lip of his beer bottle, eyes crinkling.

Oikawa likes the sound.

* * *

 

After ushering a goodbye to Mastu-san and telling her again how good her food always is, Oikawa and Kageyama head out to the nearest train station, walking side by side close enough where they bump shoulders every so often and then proceed to awkwardly pretend afterwards that it never happened.

Oikawa huddles into his jacket, regretting not bringing a scarf with him when he left the house this morning, not expecting to be out this late into the evening. Kageyama on the other hand doesn’t seem to mind the cold, or at least he’s good a hiding it if he does.

Wearing a gray pullover with the name of his team embezzled on the front in gray and dark blue, Kageyama looks perfectly content in such little clothing and when he catches Oikawa peaking at him from the corner of his eye he doesn’t say anything but the faint grin is enough for Oikawa to get huffy.

“I know where you live you know.”

Kageyama raises a brow, looking at him quite questioningly, “Yes, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear already.”

Oikawa ignores the barb, rolling his eyes in the process.

He’s never going to live this down is he?

“Then you know that this train station only goes north, not south…”

Kageyama seems to ponder over this fact as they wait for the train, the station scarce except for a few people who stayed in a bit longer at the office. They are the only two that appear to be together and Oikawa wonders what they must look like to a stranger’s point of view.

It’s a fleeting thought.

“There’s another station right before mine that takes you back south—you know, since you’re an idiot and seem determined to ride this one with me.” Oikawa shakes his head, aspirated. “What a weirdo, I swear.” Oikawa mumbles under his breath, checking the time on the watch on his wrist.

Kageyama bites his lip, “I promise I didn’t plan this…I was just…kind of following you? Didn’t notice.”

Oikawa laughs.

“I know I’m hard to resist but seriously Kageyama,” Oikawa jokes, “You’re such an absentminded guy, you’re never gonna get married like that.”

The train pulls up before Oikawa can actually think about the implication of what he’s just said, the thickness of the silence as they step on and board the train instead speaks for itself.

Oikawa plops down in a seat by the window, suddenly exhausted. He stretches his legs to their full length and sighs happily at how the muscles stretch then relax. He’s had a long day today and an indulgent, steaming hot shower appeals more and more as time ticks by.

He’s all too aware of how close Kageyama is next to him, warm and smelling pleasantly of a natural odor that Oikawa can’t quite identify; it’s unique, both odd and strange but it doesn’t mean Oikawa finds it unpleasant. Oikawa leans his head towards Kageyama before he realizes what he’s doing and catches himself halfway with a quick jerk.

Oikawa huffs, “Why are you sitting so close? There’s no one on here.” Oikawa says, burrowing his neck into his jacket trying to hide his blush. Kageyama doesn’t seem to think anything of it, watching the city scenery pass by with a serene expression.

Kageyama’s mouth quirks up questioningly, not having heard him.

“You say something?”

Oikawa sighs aspirated, “Yeah, why are you sitting so close? Looks weird…” He mumbles childishly, eyes shifting sideways.

Kageyama has the gall to look confused, “I like you, why wouldn’t I sit close to you?” Kageyama looks him over, eyes roaming slowly over the visible parts of his face and Oikawa hopes he can’t see the blush, hopes he doesn’t draw anything from it.

Oikawa takes the time to look Kageyama over as well, how his hair falls over his ears and curls slightly at the nape of his neck. He wonders if Kageyama is sensitive there, wonders what kind of expression he would make if he lightly dug his nails in and dragged them across his skin.

“What are you thinking about?”

Oikawa jolts, “Huh? What?”

Kageyama’s lips thin as if trying to suppress a smile.

“Your eyes just dilated…what were you thinking about?” Kageyama asks again, more eager and insistent. It’s unbearably cute for reasons unknown and Oikawa scoffs.

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

This time the bastard actually does smile, pleased and attractively smug. “You _like_ me.”

It seems to be infectious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you that left comments and kudos! They are the food for my muse.

Oikawa doesn’t try to pretend anymore.

He _likes_ Kageyama Tobio, a little bit more than what he probably should. Likes his face, how angular it is and how his eyes seem to glow—likes his mildly aloof manner, even likes how unforgivably blunt he is, even though sometimes it’s highly disheartening.

Oikawa supposes that they are now seeing each other (whatever that means…) and he tells Iwaizumi as much when he calls Thursday night to get a much needed update on his best friend’s life, whom he hasn’t seen in almost _two weeks_.

Iwaizumi travels a lot for his job, going to Seoul the majority of the time for various business meetings or conferences. Oikawa tries not to be the equivalent of a needy boyfriend when he’s away, texting Iwaizumi various things he thinks of with an absentminded interest or complaining about how he almost got run over by a person on a bike…but mostly it’s just complaining.

“So you really like this guy?” Iwaizumi says thoughtfully over the line. It’s always a comfort to hear his voice, like eating an entire pot of macaroni and cheese after a bad day.

Oikawa sits on the couch, flipping through various documents for work. A vodka cranberry with a pretty lime sits neatly on a coaster right by the remaining documents. It’s the only way he knows how to mix business with pleasure.

He frowns.

“What makes you say that?”

Iwaizumi snorts, “I’ve seen you date other people before and you’ve never been this… _hung up_ about someone before…I think you _really_ like this guy.” The fondness in Iwaizumi’s tone makes Oikawa’s mouth pinch.

He makes a face, “Iwa-chan stop being so embarrassing!” Oikawa whines petulantly, kicking his feet, but he doesn’t deny any of it. There’s truth in what Iwaizumi says and it scares Oikawa a bit.

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi scoffs, “Have fun on your _date_. I gotta go, early morning tomorrow. I’ll call you soon.”

* * *

 

Oikawa insists that he can cook. He’s made food for plenty of people and they’ve never seemed to have a problem, so inviting Kageyama over to his own apartment to cook a meal for him seems like a cheaper and more progressive alternative than spending an outrageous amount of money. And if there’s bonus points for showing just how awesome Oikawa is all around, then so be it…

Kageyama’s probably not bad on money unlike him, but still there’s something incredibly intimate about cooking for someone. Something sensuous about the time put in and the care, like he’s offering a special part of himself.

Oikawa shrugs the thought away. He doesn’t want to be weird so early into the night.

Kageyama arrives fifteen minutes after Oikawa starts cooking the food looking like he just got off of a sports illustration spread with his light blue dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, perfectly fitted dark wash jeans and black leather belt accentuating his slender but powerful waist. He smells spicy like amber along with a hint of the natural earthy scent of his apartment and Oikawa can see how the ends of his hair are still slightly damp from his shower.

Oikawa tries not to stare. Keyword: tries.

“You clean up nicely,” Oikawa says coolly, leaning against the door jam and crossing his arms over his chest, eyeing Kageyama up and down.

“Thank you,” Kageyama says politely, looking incredibly shy for a moment. His body seems to be electric under his skin, pulsing and jittery, constantly moving like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Clearing his throat, Kageyama extents his hand, “I brought this…since you said bring something so...”

A grin flirts with the corners of Oikawa’s mouth, charmed and flattered. “I actually meant _you_ , but thank you.” He delicately grabs the bottom of red wine bottle, turning it over thoughtfully in the palms of his hands. “This will go quite nicely actually…come in.”

Kageyama doesn’t try to hide his interest in where Oikawa lives. Oikawa tries to pretend he doesn’t notice or care about what Kageyama thinks as he strolls back into the kitchen, testing the softness of the bell peppers current sizzling in the skillet.

When Oikawa looks back up at Kageyama, biting absentmindedly at his bottom lip, he notices Kageyama pause; he’s staring at the wall where various pictures spread out throughout the years of his life are located neatly in rows of three. Oikawa looks back down quickly, oddly embarrassed.

There is a photo of him as a kid with Iwaizami, both grinning widely with their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Both of Oikawa’s front teeth had been missing. Another is from high school, Oikawa proudly wearing his volleyball uniform surrounded by his team, all of them smiling, some with tears in their eyes. It was the last practice with the first and second years before the third years retired for good.

Oikawa cherishes that picture like nothing else.

“So you _did_ play,” Kageyama says this with a confidence that speaks of him pondering the same idea before. He walks over to the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room and sits down, watching Oikawa attentively.

There’s a childlike curiosity in his expression when he asks, “What position did you play?”

Oikawa stirs the bell peppers slowly in one interval before answering. He doesn’t look at Kageyama.

“Setter.”

Kageyama, Oikawa can imagine, looks surprised by this ‘coincidence’. His eyebrows lift, considering Oikawa in a new light.

“Were you any good?” He asks eagerly, suddenly looking years younger than his 22.

Oikawa laughs; it’s a quiet, forced thing. He wants to say ‘one of the best’ but settles for, “Yeah, I suppose I was.”

Silence, thick and heavy and full of implications fills the room like a pool. Kageyama must get that it’s not particularly something Oikawa wants to talk about so he moves onto other, safer conversation topics. Not that he’s any good at them mind you. He’s about as craftful with small talk as Oikawa is with being subtle.

“So…do you do this for all the dates you go on?” Kageyama asks playfully when the atmosphere is light and mirthful again. He cautiously slinks into the kitchen, peering into the various sauce pans and skillets Oikawa has on the stove, all on various heats and making his apartment smell simply amazing. Kageyama tries not to look impressed but Oikawa knows better.

He snorts, “Like what? Bring handsome guys back to my place and cook delicious meals for them?” He means for it to sound as flirty as it comes out being. Oikawa can’t help it, he likes when Kageyama gets flustered and twitchy around him. It’s cute and ego boosting.

Kageyama shyly ducks his head, smiling a bit and Oikawa can’t help but chuckle, tracing his thumb over his bottom lip.

“God, you’re so cute.”

Kageyama scoffs as if the mere idea offends him and nudges Oikawa with his shoulder, it’s light and teasing and Oikawa can’t help but to flush pleasantly with what feels like a grade school crush as he does it back.

“Do you, uh need help with anything?”

Oikawa gives Kageyama a pointed look as if to say ‘does it look like I need help’ but then reconsiders, “If you could get two plates that would be awesome.”

Kageyama nods, straightening his back before pausing, unsure when he eyes all the various drawers and cabinets. Oikawa sadistically lets him sweat for a quick moment.

“Top cabinet on the right and the utensils are right below it in that drawer.” Oikawa gestures his head to said drawer, turning his head back to the spoon at his lips.

“Ah, it’s done.”

The chicken is both sweet and tangy and added with the crispness of the vegetables it’s downright mouthwatering.

They don’t talk much as they eat. Kageyama isn’t the type of person that needs constant verbal reaffirmation like some of the people Oikawa has dated. He makes his comments, very few and far between, count as he compliments Oikawa on his cooking. Oikawa being a little bit of a chatter box himself finds the change charming, instead of focusing most of his energy on listening and coming up with the perfect reply in his head, he watches Kageyama under the pretense that he isn’t.

Kageyama catches him at it sometimes but doesn’t say anything so Oikawa keeps looking, keeps appraising. After a while he just stops being subtle about it.

After dinner Oikawa pours the both of them a healthy helping of red wine, dubbing it cleverly ‘adult’s dessert’ as they retreat to Oikawa’s living room, sitting on either ends of his couch. Oikawa’s lamps are on their lowest setting, casting the room in a nice, warm amber glow that does wonders for Kageyama’s profile.

He looks incredibly handsome like this; eyes lowered showing just how long his lashes are, his skin looks inviting and soft to the touch and Oikawa can’t help how his own eyes linger on Kageyama’s hand, delicately but strongly holding the stem of his wine glass. His fingers are long and slender yet sure, absolutely perfect for the position he plays in, able to hold or hit the span of a volleyball perfectly inside the reach of his hand.

Kageyama has very nice hands indeed.

Oikawa runs the tip of his tongue along his upper lip, chasing the stray favor of wine as he scoots closer. Kageyama notices, head lifting slightly as his eyes move up and down Oikawa’s figure, considering.

After a moment he starts moving closer too and Kageyama’s hand reaches out gingerly to touch him, maybe to bring him closer but then retracts in the last moment, jittery with nerves.

“You’re so quiet…” Oikawa whispers. He reassuringly takes one of Kageyama’s hands in his, running his index finger in a circle along his palm. The atmosphere seems so delicate, so fragile; Oikawa doesn’t want to do anything to break it.

“Sorry I—I was just thinking.” Kageyama stutters. Oikawa can feel his shiver, how it makes his whole body quiver and Oikawa presses the pad of his finger more insistently into Kageyama’s palm almost massaging it.

Oikawa smiles lavishly.

“Yeah? Thinking about what?” Oikawa teases softly, circling his thumb around the pulse point of Kageyama’s wrist, feeling the steady beat currently rising in tempo. The patch of his skin there is so soft to the touch, it’s addicting in how Oikawa wants to feel more.

Kageyama’s eyes flicker knowingly down to his lips, lingering as he swallows, shifting closer. Oikawa beams gleefully inside, wanting to make Kageyama work for it, being the tease he knows he is and loving himself all the more for it.

“Thinking about whether or not it’s okay to finally kiss you…”

Oikawa flushes warmly at that, body going hot as his eyelashes flutter. He moves even closer, resisting the urge to just climb into Kageyama’s lap and smother him in kisses, prompting him to gasp for air. His hand does shift to Kageyama’s thigh though, leaning his weight on it as he just barely brushes his nose against the bridge of Kageyama’s.

“So, is it alright? You tell me.” Oikawa breathes, fingers dragging back and forth along the inseam of Kageyama’s jeans.

Kageyama only hesitates for a second before surging forward, pressing his lips against Oikawa’s own. All thoughts cease to exist when Kageyama’s lips move on his. It’s attentive at first, sweetly considerate as if wordlessly asking a question before his lips part and a warm flick of a tongue slides wetly along his bottom lip.

Oikawa’s mouth parts on a wispy sigh, angling his mouth and bringing his hand up to indulgently run his fingers through Kageyama’s hair, soft and silky, gripping tightly at the hairs at the nape of his neck.  

Kageyama must like that because he arches into the pull, panting hotly. His arm slowly slides around Oikawa’s waist; his muscles are lithe and powerful as they bring Oikawa closer. The expanse of his hand flattens and smooth’s against Oikawa’s back, possessive, passionate and unbearably scorching. Oikawa can’t help but roll his body into it, wanting to feel the compass of that hand—the heat of it—wishing it was on his skin instead of in between layers of clothes.

Oikawa presses his body as closely as he can to Kageyama’s, his leg lifting and sliding over Kageyama’s own, almost sitting in his lap. Kageyama makes this _sound_ , needy and pained as he grips Oikawa harder, fingers pressing insistently into his skin and molding into his lines and curves. The sound lights Oikawa on fire, going straight to his dick and he can’t help but moan, biting and sucking at Kageyama’s bottom lip, his eyes lidded and blistering as he watches Kageyama’s mouth go slack with pleasure.

“You’re so hot,” Oikawa pants feverishly, peppering Kageyama’s jaw with bites and kisses both. Kageyama moans into it, gripping Oikawa’s hips and using his strength to finally shift Oikawa into his lap. Oikawa goes more than willingly, wrapping his arms around Kageyama’s neck.

“No, you—you are—” Kageyama begins in wonderment, unable to finish his thought as Oikawa rocks down, his ass grinding insistently against the tell-tell press of Kageyama’s cock and fuck—that shouldn’t feel as good as it does through layers of clothes.

Kageyama’s head arches back on a groan, licking his lips. Oikawa’s hands rest on the crest roll beside Kageyama’s head, bracketing and leaning into him, watching his reactions utterly fascinated.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t usually do this.” Oikawa half-heartedly jokes, biting shyly at his bottom lip. He doesn’t want Kageyama thinking he’s easy but despite his words he doesn’t stop rocking his ass against that ridged bulge in Kageyama’s jeans or kissing the tense tendons in his neck.

He can feel Kageyama swallow, running his hands up and down Oikawa’s back before cupping his ass and lightly squeezing.

“I don’t either…but you’re just so…”

The thought hangs knowingly in the air and Oikawa smiles, sharing the same sentiment. Oikawa cups Kageyama’s face delicately, kissing him again slowly, sweetly, savoring the feel of his lips and him before he pulls away and shifts out of Kageyama’s lap rather reluctantly. If he didn’t care on some level, Oikawa would totally have his hand down Kageyama’s pants by now but he’s trying to be _responsible_ adult god damn it.

He lands on the cushion next to Kageyama with a huff, allowing for the both of them to cool their heads and not make any rash decisions they might not look at so fondly in the morning.

After a moment, Oikawa grabs Kageyama’s hand, wrapping his fingers around his palm.

“I don’t want you thinking it’s just about—you know— _sex_. I like you.” _A lot_ goes unsaid.

Oikawa rakes his fingers through his mildly disheveled hair as he says it. He wants to make sure Kageyama has a clear line of sight directly towards his eyes—that he knows Oikawa’s being truly genuine and sincere when he says it, that he wants him for more than just one night.

“Y-yeah,” Kageyama nods understandingly, giving Oikawa’s hand a good squeeze. He tries to subtlety shift the tent in his jeans away, looking at Oikawa slightly apologetic, his eyes soft.

“I like you too—you know that. I don’t want to rush anything with you either.” He sounds so eager and so heartfelt that Oikawa presses his lips together, trying to subdue the 1000 wat smile that wants to break through his cool façade.

He kisses Kageyama as a ‘thank you’ instead.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re dating Kageyama Tobio. Free tickets to basically every one of his games and _huge_ bragging rights—I mean, out of _everyone_ in this fucking car how did _Hanger_ land this guy? Totally unfair.”

Hanamaki laments sourly in the backseat of Matsun’s car, sullenly watching the scenery pass by him with a long face. It’s Hanamaki’s version of ‘congrats, you landed lucky.’ You learn not to take it too personally, especially for how long they’ve known each other.

Oikawa, in the front seat, pouts while inspecting the ends of his nails.

“Rude,” is all Oikawa says and next to him Matsun laughs in that quiet, breathy way he does as he puts on the turn signal and exits smoothly off the highway.

The gang is heading to Kageyama’s game this afternoon where the national Japanese team is facing off against the Brits—it’s one of the few games where Japan is actually playing on their home turf instead of visiting foreign soil.

Kageyama (god bless him and his pretty face) was lucky enough to score four tickets to one of their biggest games this season. Oikawa had gaped openly at him when Kageyama presented them a week ago. He asked ‘how’ because one ticket let alone _four_ for a game like this was near impossible. Kageyama had just shrugged, pleased smirk stretching across his mouth as he told Oikawa that it was no big deal—that he just had to kill a couple of people and make a couple of threats and it was all taken care of.

Oikawa had laughed, bright and loud, thanking Kageyama with a kiss.

“I still can’t believe he managed to get _four_ tickets though…” Iwaizumi says a moment later in faint awe and disbelief.

“He’s one of the star players, I’m sure if he asked they’d do just about anything for him.” Hanamaki replies sounding outrageously jealous at the prospect. Oikawa can sympathize.

“This was really nice of him—I mean _really_ nice. I looked up how much these tickets were online and they’re expensive as hell. I don’t know how possible it is but I’d like to say thanks in person…and you know, just meet the guy dating my best friend.”

Oikawa giggles, turning his head. His smile is dazzling.

“Ah Iwa-chan! You really do care!”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi scoffs, eyes shifting sideways.

Hanamaki snickers, hitting Iwaizumi playfully on the arm.

“It’s so cute when you get embarrassed Iwaizumi...”

Matsun adds, “I know when you’re lying Iwaizumi—you just wanna check out his muscles and compare them to your own don’t you?” Matsun says smugly, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Iwaizumi tells them all to go to hell but doesn’t once deny it.

* * *

 

It’s the closest Oikawa’s ever been to the floor of a gymnasium without actually being on it himself. Really, Kageyama out did himself with these seating arrangements.

There is an old, familiar sense of nostalgia that throbs like a dull ache inside of himself at the smell of a freshly waxed gymnasium and the overall excitement buzzing about the place. They all give each other fond looks, remembering the old days and how it used to be them out there basking in the pre-game energy.

They arrive just in time to see the teams come out and start warming up. Cheers and hollers start up in the stands and Oikawa finds himself caught up inside the intensity of it all, doing the same. Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsun exchange amused looks before joining in, seeing which one of them can cheer the loudest over each other.

Oikawa only gives the briefest of glances to the English team before his eye roam over to Japan.

They are a very colorful bunch, that’s for sure.

There’s a guy that looks like a monk but acts nothing like the sort, a guy that looks like he should be in middle school and is trying to make up for it by how high and ridiculous his hair is, a guy that looks put off by the fact that he’s on the _same team_ with these people, and _his_ guy, looking both extremely handsome and incredibly focused.

Oikawa feels his heartbeat pick up when Kageyama looks out into the crowd, his gaze searching and grins when he sees Oikawa. They stare at each other until a red-head of short height breaks Kageyama out of his daze, kneeing him in the butt and shouting something that looks a lot like ‘focus!’

Kageyama turns to him with a comically furious expression, shouting something back Oikawa can’t hear from so far away. He can tell that they’re close friends.

_Ah, so that’s Hinata Shouyou._

“Holy crap,” Hanamaki blanches, gaping at Oikawa with a slightly horrified expression.

Oikawa shuffles uneasily.

“What?”

Hanamaki makes a face, “Keep it in your pants at least until after the game Tooru, jesus.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the blush from rising to his checks. Was he being so obvious?

“You’re over reacting Maki.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, looking straight ahead.

“No, he really wasn’t…”

* * *

 

Kageyama’s team—it would be too simple to call them amazing players.

They are an uncanny bunch with various quirks and while they take quite a bit to get off the ground, their game doesn’t suffer for it. Their skills are undeniable. Oikawa hears Iwaizumi make various pleased grunts next to him as he watches the game with rapt attention.

He has a particular fondness for Japan’s wing spiker, the huge powerhouse hitter that looks a little bit like Jesus himself. He’s ferocious and heavy handed and the ball makes a very pleasing sound whenever he happens to hit it.

But the spectators, along with himself, are highly enraptured by Japan’s #9 and #10. The first spike they hit in the air has the crowd in hysterics, the question ‘what that hell was that?’ echoes throughout in the stands in various pitches and ranges like an offbeat chorus.

Iwaizumi makes this… _sound_ and double takes, his eyes bugging out like he can’t quite believe what he just saw while Hanamaki curses, and Matsun just simply gapes.

“Did—did you _see_ that!? How did they even—?!”

Matsun slowly nods his head, his usual expression of cool indifference slightly rattled.

Japan beats England easily in both sets.

* * *

 

They’re waiting quietly out in the gymnasium hall when someone important looking, wearing khakis, a team jersey, and a snap back, taps on his shoulder and politely asks if he’s Oikawa Tooru. The man is from Japan’s PR team and escorts Oikawa and his party of four to the locker room/recreational area where the athletes sit and rest in before and after a game.

Kageyama and some of his teammates are there when they walk in. Oikawa suddenly is very nervous, twiddling this thumbs and pinkies together like he used to do in high school before a decisive match.

The corner of Kageyama’s mouth lifts as walks over to him. He’s hesitant for a moment, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself and it strikes Oikawa _hard_ at how adorable he is, that he’s just as nervous as Oikawa apparently feels.

Oikawa, feeling bold, grabs his hand, squeezing lightly as he brings Kageyama closer into his chest and kisses the corner of his mouth. Kageyama’s lashes flutter and his mouth parts on a wispy breath. His eyes are incredibly bright when he quietly says, “Hey.”

“You were really great today,” Oikawa whispers, for Kageyama and Kageyama alone. Oikawa can feel his answering smile on the shell of his ear.

That’s when he hears Iwaizumi’s throat awkwardly clear and Oikawa looks up to see Kageyama’s teammates—the one with the glasses, the monk, and the short, spiky haired guy in particular—watching them with a shocked intensity. The monk and the ridiculously haired guy look both parts thrilled and scandalized.

“Wow, I didn’t actually believe it…” The tall blond says, looking thoughtful for a moment before turning his attention back to whatever he finds more interesting than their intimate display. Oikawa is thankful. Having all eyes on him his highly embarrassing.

“Whoa! I’ve never seen him smile like that!” The smoothly shaven guy says excitedly, giving a good hearty slap to Kageyama’s ass as he exits the room. He smiles knowingly at Oikawa as he proudly moves past, wiggling his eyebrows and winking for good measure.

“Hinata, I’m heading out! See you on the other side!” Baldly announces loudly, pushing past the door.

Oikawa shyly backs away from Kageyama, ears hot.

Scratching the back of his neck, Oikawa gestures to his group, “Uh, um yeah Tobio, these are my friends: Iwaizumi Hajime, Hanamaki Takahiro, and Matsukawa Issei.”

Iwaizumi nods his head in greeting, Hanamaki ushers a two-fingered salute, while Matsun gives a close-lipped smile. Kageyama looks overwhelmed for a quick moment before he lowers his head politely.

“It’s nice to meet you all. It’s great to finally have faces to the names.”

Matsun raises an eyebrow at that but it’s Hanamaki that says, “Oh jeez, I can only imagine the stories this one has told. We’re not as bad as he makes us out to be, I swear.”

Kageyama laughs; it’s a light, leisure thing and seems to ease the atmosphere.

“No, he’s still at the top when it comes to _literally_ walking into troublesome situations.”

Oikawa inwardly groans at the reference to the apartment ‘incident’. Hanamaki had laughed for hours after Iwaizumi told him…the traitor.

Iwaizumi pipes in then, looking oddly humble. “Hey, I just—we just wanted to say thanks for today. That was really, I mean _really_ kind of you. You didn’t have too.”

Kageyama shrugs, glancing away, “It was no big deal. I don’t usually ask for favors like that so they were more than happy to give them to me. I’m glad you guys had a good time.”

“You’re really good by the way,” Hanamaki begins, looking both envious and impressed by that fact. Iwaizumi snorts fondly.

“I mean, we all knew you were but seeing it out there today, just kind of like, reaffirmed it. That _thing_ you do with the shorty—”

“Hey, I’m not short! Everyone else is just freakishly tall!” Before Hanamaki can finish said shorty bounces up out of nowhere on Oikawa’s right. He pouts as he throws his gym bag over his shoulder, swaying slightly at the weight; it almost looks too big for him.

Hinata Shouyou is different than what he imagined up close. How Kageyama talked about him made Hinata seem overly boisterous and prone to accidents. This guy however holds a quiet intensity under his skin—it’s something you can see in his eyes, looking directly at them makes you want to squint as if looking into the sun.

That sun currently is watching him rather openly without any airs and Oikawa wants to fidget again at the intensity in them. Hinata’s eyebrows animatedly quirk up as something like recognition flickers over his face.

“Ah, so this is the coveted Oikawa Tooru,” Hinata begins slowly, sounding out the words of his name carefully, testing them out.

He grins; it’s bright and shinning.

“Kageyama you _were_ telling the truth, he is _very_ pretty. Nice to finally meet you.”

Hinata waves goodbye, smiling a big smile as he bounces on the heels of his feet, skipping backwards towards the door. Oikawa can’t even get a word in. Not that he could anyways; he’s gaping wordlessly at Hinata, willing himself not to blush too furiously at the fact that Kageyama’s been telling his friends that he’s _pretty_.

Oh god, Kageyama Tobio is too much.

Hinata beams at the rest of them. “Nice to meet you too, hope you enjoyed the game! And for you—” He singles out Hanamaki with a mock-stern tone and a severe index finger.

“I’m not short,” Hinata scolds before heading out the door, singing an upbeat tune about having to go to the bathroom. He reminds Oikawa of a whirlwind—you can easily tell when it’s there but it’s gone almost immediately before you can tell the direction of where the wind is blowing.

It’s quiet for a moment as they stand there, watching the door swing on his hinges.

Kageyama slowly turns to face him, mouth pinched and eyes haunted. “Do you understand now?”

Oikawa suddenly starts heaving with laughter, nodding his head in between the tremors.

God, what even was that?

Hanamaki whistles lowly, “Okaaaay, so he doesn’t like to be called short…good to know…”

“Your team is kind of weird Kageyama...” Matsun coolly adds.

“Yeah…people say that a lot. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be man, it’s charming in a way.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, taking it all in stride, “We all have our quirks—you guys just seem to have _more_.”

“It’s charming, really!”

It gets easier from there on. Kageyama’s shoulders visibly relax and his mouth isn’t so pinched with nerves whenever Hanamaki makes him laugh—which is quite often.

After a few minutes Oikawa can almost kid himself into believing that Kageyama has been part of the gang since high school with how composed and carefree he becomes, with how natural the conversation seems to flow between all five of them.

Oikawa shares a look with Iwaizumi when Matsun and Hanamaki are telling Kageyama about their days at Aobajousai. He naturally tunes out.

 _So, what do you think Iwa-chan?_ Oikawa look communicates.

 _He’s good for you. The blue oni to your red oni, I won’t have to worry so much now_. Iwaizumi says back with a subtle tilt of his chin and Oikawa has a fierce neediness to hug and tease him in that moment.

Later, when introductions are finished and embarrassing stories have been exchanged and shared, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsun call it a day, thanking Kageyama again graciously as they make their exit, leaving the both of them alone for the first time today.

Not that Oikawa was keeping track of the minutes. _Oh no_.

Oikawa watches the door swing shut, making sure it stays still before eagerly cupping Kageyama’s face in his hands and kissing him hotly. His body collides into Kageyama’s own; desperate for that contact, for however long he’s able to hold it. Kageyama melts into him with a soft sound, hands running down his back and resting at his waist.

When Oikawa breaks the kiss, he places his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders, pressing down against them to keep Kageyama from chasing his lips. Oikawa smirks when Kageyama pouts childishly at him, smugly pleased.

He licks his lips, “Wanted to do that since I first saw you on the court. You looked so good.”

Kageyama tries to ring words together, but what actually comes out ends up sounding like a jumbled, gargled mess. The look on his face is priceless.

Oikawa laughs, reluctantly putting space in between Kageyama and himself, less they end up doing something together that they have no business doing in such a public place.

“Hurry up and get cleaned up so we can leave. The thoughts I’m having are too inappropriate for us to be alone and still be _here_.”

Kageyama curses, practically running to change.

Oikawa grins, “Good boy.”

* * *

 

It was fully in Oikawa’s plans tonight that he and Kageyama would finally take the next step in their relationship after weeks of edging and playing coy.

Oikawa was fully prepared, bought a new bottle of lube and a box of condoms while buying his weekly groceries. He made sure that when they needed them the items wouldn’t still be in the plastic bag, resting somewhere in a random spot inside his living room.

What ends up happening instead is much sweeter, making it all that much more frightening.

They kiss, slowly and leisurely all the way back to Oikawa’s bedroom, only taking off articles of clothing that allow for them to be more comfortable instead of just naked. Kageyama is beat—from the game, from the press after the game, and from dinner and Oikawa can’t blame him, he’s feeling a bit beat himself.

Besides, kissing Kageyama just to kiss him is so lovely. After a while, their lips just stop moving, utterly content with just breathing in each other’s air and the act is so intimate, arguably even more so than the act of sex itself in how Oikawa feels his heartbeat wildly pick up at the innocence of it all. He feels more naked than he ever has before.

Doing this sort of thing…it’s _dangerous_.

Oikawa can feel Kageyama’s eyes on him but he refuses to look up. Instead he plants a kiss on Kageyama’s forehead, on the bridge of his nose, on his cheek, before moving back up and resting his lips against Kageyama’s temple. He gathers up as much of Kageyama as he can into his arms, weaving their legs together and just basks in the warmness and closeness as Kageyama shifts to better accommodate himself before settling with a content sigh.

“Sorry. I kinda planned on sexing you up a lot tonight. You know, as a job well done.” Oikawa murmurs tiredly, eyes already closed, breath becoming deep and heavy.

Kageyama softly huffs against his neck.

Oikawa can feel the faint curve of his smile against his skin like a brand.

“You still can, I’ll just lay here. I can’t do much else since I’m 99% sure I’ll fall asleep on you. Sorry.”

Oikawa cracks one eye open, looking down at Kageyama with a displeased frown.

“Jesus, your sense of humor...It is atrocious.”

Kageyama softly snorts, his voice faint with the beginnings of sleep as he says, “I thought it was pretty funny.”

“Of course you would think that…”

It’s all too easy to fall asleep.


End file.
